Before

she slept beneath where the wisteria grew,
and woke with the blackbird's chorus
-
she made love to the breeze,
filling her lungs with the cool eroticism
of a north wind that everybody else sheltered from
-
condensing on the bark of a tree, she would

drip,

drip,

down between the crevices
and alight on the ground that
gasped for her sultry saturation

oh! for the blossom that blew
and stationed itself like Nature's
delicate sentry at your feet!

for the storms that surged
and seeped into your body,
and the lightening that lit
your very darkest abodes!

treacherous, now, are the wind's overtures

treasonous is the air that swirls seductively
around my face on a searing summer's day

and villainous are the daisies that dance
with not a mention of your delicate grace
from that time before -

"that time before"

-

that is all the time I have now

--

Ben Pickard 2021